


what isn't there will hurt you more

by orphan_account



Category: Original Work
Genre: Hallucinations, Insanity, Parasites, Tactile Hallucinations, Weirdness, kinda emo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-13
Updated: 2016-12-13
Packaged: 2018-09-08 06:05:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8833279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: You are melancholy,Alone at home with only our thoughts, and something hidden from sight.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Author's noteteetettes- it's written from no particular perspective, so you/ we alternate pretty much randomly.  
> my first published work in a while, so go easy on me.

At the end of the day, when you have been dropped off from your bus stop and have walked five blocks home, you break into your own house because the door is locked.  
While reaching through the cracked window to unlock the door, you begin to think.  
The satchel you keep your things in is pulled along floor behind us, as we walk to the bathroom.  
The air condition feel nice, a reminder of how nice everything is for you.  
All the nice clothing and painted bedrooms won’t keep the melancholy out, though, so it seeps into you like lukewarm tea, concentrating at your edges.

We are in between places, we think. Thanksgiving is over, and Christmas has not yet begun, we are growing and our interests are at a standstill.  
This isn’t a good in between places, this is unwanted in between, unreasonable sadness and drought joy.  
Having dropped the satchel by your door, we wander to the bathroom. Our face stares back at us, in the mirror above the sink.  
Hmm, our hair is growing. Pulling down our hood, our undercut pushes out at the sides.  
It’s fine, we can shave it.  
Before forging the cabinets for the electric razor, we tug down our bandanna, and see what not many other do.  
Most, at our age at least, see different things when they take off their makeup, their hoods, their armor.  
They see their faces.  
We see static.

It covers our mouth like a second layer of fabric, sticking to our lips, just outside our ears. It keep us from saying anything to people we don’t know, people we like too much, people we admire.  
For this, we are grateful for it. We say a lot of stupid things, but this keeps us from saying more.  
It twitches outside our ears.  
We fetch the razor. Pulling up our locks, we push the razor along our scalp. It buzzes pleasantly, mowing hair like grass. 

The static has a sound, too.  
It sounds like the ocean.  
Not waves crashing endlessly to the shore, but when you would dunk your head underwater, hear a world at once.  
Thousands of fish, eating and fucking and shitting and dying.  
The high, whining buzz of static doesn’t invade your ears very much , but when it does, it sounds like this.  
Sometimes, we like to pretend that instead of us being broken, we are too powerful.  
That we hear everything, the human world, the same infinite drone as the fishes.  
Looking back at ourselves in the mirror, we smile a bit. Try to look happy, at least try.  
The sink is full of hair.  
We turn the tap on and stare expectantly at the wads of hair to be flushed away. 

The static gets in our brain sometimes.  
Our thoughts sound like scampering rabbits, shivering, terrified. Stand in the center of the room, no blankets, 3am, because if you can’t see it it’s not there, and if you can’t see it, it is there, so everything is waiting for you in numb silence to acknowledge it so it may put it’s parasitic young inside you to incubate.  
When the static gets inside your head, you fear like you never have before that you have already greeted it, and it’s young are already inside you, pushing at your skin like the blankets you shed just moments ago to escape them and they curl inside your mouth, feed off your intestines and so you just weep for them to leave.

We wash our hands slowly, savoring the feeling of water rushing over us like blankets,  
blankets that do not lie and conceal things that will lay eggs in us .


End file.
